The Needle Sings to the Book

What you print and fold,

I bind together, the thread

that allows the word,

whoever its mouth,

to lie with another,

line by line, face to face.

So I would bind men

whatever their speech

prod them to lie open,

prod them to lie, if necessary,

for isn’t that your nature,

to be both true and untrue

without breaking your spine?

Unlike you, I need no words

for my continuance, nothing but

this point to make my point,

and that quick and quick enough.

I draw this thread through

your body as if I too

had a tongue to sing.

Lois Marie Harrod


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